


Adventures of Lena and Clara One-shots

by ClarenceJ



Series: Adventures of Lena and Clara [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fever, Friendship, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Love, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Nightmares, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarenceJ/pseuds/ClarenceJ
Summary: One-shots about Clara and Lena's lives inside of Erebor that didn't make the cut in the big story. It's best to read this with the series or after it, but not necessary. Clara and Lena are two women who get stuck in Middle Earth and accompany Thorin's Company on their quest. Eventually in the big story the pairings are Thorin/Clara and Fili/Lena.1. Lena gets sick her first winter in Erebor2. Clara gets migraines during the storm season3. Lena and Clara realize they've missed many of the key holidays from their world4. How Clara and Lena experience the food in Middle Earth along their journey5. Clara's nightmares from the battle start to haunt her
Relationships: Fíli (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Adventures of Lena and Clara [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1288100
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. Lena's first winter in Erebor

The heavy and cold morning air sticks to the room even as white light filters in from the shaft in the ceiling as Fili retrieves his coat he forgot that morning. He stops for a moment as he notices a lump in the bed on Lena’s side. _‘Hm’_ he thinks curiously. ‘ _That’s usually made by now.’_

“What are you still doing in bed at this hour? Lena?” Fili pauses as she doesn’t answer, doesn’t even stir from her place in bed. “Lena?” he asks again worriedly and strides over to the bed when she doesn’t move. She’s on her side of the bed quivering and shaking like a leaf with sweat dotting her forehead. When Fili puts his hand to it he reels back because she’s burning up.

“Lena? Lena wake up. Lena! I need a healer here now!” he yells to Harfur who has been waiting outside of the door for nearly the entire morning.

It’s a long and tense few minutes as Oin walks to the room but he doesn’t want to add to any panic, so he takes his time. “What seems to be the problem my Prince?” he asks routinely as he totes his medical bag on his shoulder.

“Something is wrong, I can’t wake her and she’s been burning up!” he rattles off while stroking her hair, then proceeding to pace around her side of the bed. The fact Oin looks unworried annoys Fili to no end.

His aged hand feels along her brow and along the underside of her jaw to her lymph nodes. “Aye well her temperature is too high and her neck is swollen,” he shakes his head as he pulls his hand back. “She can sweat the fever out for now. Get those blankets and put more wood on the fire,” he instructs and Fili doesn’t hesitate in doing exactly what he says, but he freezes on the spot when Lena groans and tosses around on the bed. He’s over to her in a flash with a hand on her cheek and soft words on his lips.

“Mom? Where are we? I don't want to get up, I’m tired,” she whispers hoarsely. Fili and Oin exchange worried glances without another word as Fili tucks the blankets tighter around her shoulders. “We home yet?” she murmurs at nearly a whisper with a fierce shiver going down her spine. All she can see are blurry shapes and the main one has gentle hands. All she can feel beneath her is the bed rocking like waves in the ocean.

Her hazy words make Fili’s heart break as he feels so helpless. She’s never spoken of her family even at the worst points of their adventures. This must be awfully horrible for her to mistake everything for her other world’s home. It’s understandable for her to want that when she must feel so disorientated and sick, so he lies to put her at ease. “Yes, you’re home Lena, just sleep now love. You’ll be alright,” he whispers but she is already out like a light. “Why is she confused?” he asks the medic quietly.

Oin shrugs as he rummages through his bag. “Aye, it’s only the fever that’s addled her head. Poor lass is awfully sick,” Oin nods. “She will be for some time until the fever breaks, then she should be on the mend. Don’t you worry lad. Keep her drinking and keep her covered. Give her this every three hours and give her light broth if you’re able. She'll be right as rain in no time.” It’s with those instructions that he takes his leave with one last nod of his head.

It’s hours of feeding wood, constant effort, and changing out sweaty blankets before anyone else comes looking for him. Lena has tossed and turned fitfully but hasn’t opened her eyes again.

“Fili?” Kili calls lightly from the doorway and Fili knows his brother must be confused at the sight. “Fili is she. . .?” Kili trails off worriedly with wide eyes since he’s unused to seeing people so sick. For a moment he mistook her for a corpse.

Fili simply shakes his head. “She hasn’t woken up since earlier today. Oin says her fever is too high,” he tells him as he continues to wipe her brow with a wet cloth and a stray tear rolls down his face. “What if she dies?” he voices. This is not the first time the thought has crossed his mind in the past hours, but it's the first time he's said it aloud. That’s the first thought he’d had when she didn’t move.

Kili sets his jaw as he takes in the full picture of her soaked clothes, chapped lips, and flushed cheeks. “She won’t,” he says resolutely. “Who are you kidding? This is Lena! She is very strong! She'll pull through, I know it.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Fili breathes. He stares at her face only to have images of her lifeless on the tomb or bloody in the battlefield flash unbidden into his mind.

“Fili,” the sharp tone of his brother’s usually cheerful voice snaps him out of his sudden funk. “You need to stop that thinking. She will be fine. Oin is a master healer and if he gave you anything to treat her then she will be well again. Have you taken care of yourself? Do you need a break to rest or eat? When did you last bathe?”

He shakes his head and scoffs. “I don't need a break, I just need to take care of her. I don’t want to take my eyes off of her,” he fidgets anxiously as he wrings the cloth and starts wiping again.

“Are you going to tell Clara about this? The rest of the company?”

“No. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want any of them to know. They would worry and I don’t want them to- to- please just don’t tell them,” The blonde pleads with big eyes.

Kili nods carefully. He won’t tell them but he’s not sure their older healer won’t accidentally let it slip. Over the course of the next day (Fili staying up the whole night taking care of her) the news of Lena’s sickness spreads slowly from one person to another once they notice Fili and Lena’s absence. The whispered additions of ‘don’t tell anyone’ or ‘keep this quiet’ don’t make any difference. Word still spreads and the second it reaches Clara she excuses herself and breaks into a run for Lena’s room.

“Fili! Jesus Christ! How long has she been like this?” Clara demands sharply when she comes in. Lena’s buried under heavy blankets shivering like a leaf with sweat on her brow before Fili wipes it off with another cool cloth.

“You heard?” he looks down at the floor from his spot in the chair. There's no need for an answer before he continues. “A little under two days but she doesn’t seem to be getting better. We tried giving her something to reduce her fever, but she couldn’t keep it down before falling asleep again,” Fili explains tiredly.

“I’d hate to sound stupid but have you tried giving it to her with food? If all you’ve been giving her is fluids she’s probably hungry,” she explains as she picks up the vile filled with green goop and grabs the salty topped and still warm bread from the table.

“The few minutes she was awake she kept insisting she wasn’t hungry,” he reasons but Clara shrugs his resigned tone off as she shakes Lena’s shoulders and strokes her face to wake her. The hazel eyes that open are so completely fever glazed Clara knows she’s not going to remember this when she’s well.

“Open your mouth please,” she chirps to the dazed sick girl. “Open, Lena,” she repeats. To Fili’s surprise, she opens her mouth and doesn’t reject the bread with the medicine on it. This is already going better than when he gave it to her in the first place.

“Eat this and try to keep it down for at least five minutes, I’ll set an hourglass so you can see, then you can go back to sleep,” she wheels and deals as Lena takes all of the medicine without protest. She even makes sleepy reaching hands for more bread which Clara gives in pinched pieces. “It’s the salt that tastes good,” she tells Fili when she sees his shocked expression. It’s a long five minutes as Lena fights her closing eyelids but the nice weight in her stomach and the blankets on top of her make the task nearly impossible.

“You can go back to sleep now love,” Fili assures her as it becomes more and more pitiful to watch her eyes open and shut tiredly.

Lena looks beyond relieved at those words. “’Kay,” she whispers before promptly falling asleep again.

“You should get some sleep Fili. No-,” she cuts off sharply as he wants to protest against her. “Stop it! Don’t! I don’t want to hear it. If you want to sleep in here you can, or you can sleep in mine and Thorin’s front room if you want to get out of this room. She’s not going to die Fili. She has the flu, not the plague.”

“I don’t want to leave her though. I don’t want to miss if she-,” he swallows thickly and his mouth closes with a click as he chokes on the word ‘die’.

Clara resists the urge to roll her eyes. “She’s not going to die. Now go and sleep- oh and wash your hands and whatnot so you don’t get sick.” At those words, he smiles and laughs lightly but does as he’s told.

“We’re hardy Clara. Mahal made us to withstand the heat and cold, illness and disease. We’re made to live underground in the cold and damp, so we know how to take care of ourselves. The illnesses of men are no problem for us. Didn’t uncle ever tell you?” he asks offhandedly as he dries his hands. She shakes her head. “There were times in the villages illness swept through, but we were able to go through untouched. Even some of the worst illnesses weren’t able to reach us.”

“So you don’t get sick at all?”

“We have our own illnesses but if Lena had one, I don't believe she wouldn’t have lasted as long as she has.” _‘Oh, great’_ Clara thinks shortly.

“Right. Now go get sleep!” she changes topics quickly. Reluctantly Fili drags his feet into the front room of his and Lena’s shared living space and nearly passes out before his head hits the cushion.

An hour of silence is broken by Lena rolling in bed and pushing off the blankets from her sweating frame. Her eyes feel crusted over and her mouth feels filled with cotton. Her sinuses are killing her! Gah! And her stomach is so empty!

“Water,” she croaks through cracked lips. Every breath is like trying to swallow hot sand. A cold rim is pressed against her lips so she drinks greedily until it’s pulled away. She cracks her eyes open with gargantuan effort and smiles when she sees Clara smiling back down at her.

“Hey there. You know where you are?” Clara asks as she gets more bread and water ready. Fili had mentioned she was confused before, but if she’s asking for things clearly then she must be a little better. The heatless glare she gives Clara answers her question well enough. “Alright, alright!” she concedes with a smirk.

“I’m hungry,” she murmurs quietly as she shifts the blankets away from her shoulders and feels hot and damp blankets reach all the way to her toes. _‘They’re wet’_ she grimaces. “Why am I wet? Did I pee myself?” she worries suddenly, fighting the urge to scramble out of the bed. All of the aching in her joints would prevent this anyway.

“You might have at some point but it’s fine, and nah, right now you’re just sweaty.” Lena rolls her eyes. _‘Like that makes it any better.’_ “You’ve been asleep for a few days. The flu without modern medicine is a real bitch. I know you just got up but are you awake enough for a shower or a bath? I like you and all but I don’t want to give you a sponge bath if I can help it.”

There’s stumbling and support needed but eventually, they make it to the bathroom and into the shower. Lena is only thankful there’s the carved bench in the shower so she doesn’t have to stand the whole time. The shower is refreshing but tiring to a bone deep level. Although there’s steam pouring from the water she begins to shiver once again and resists turning the water up to burning temperature.

By the time she gets dressed and makes it back to bed she’s sure Clara is trying to torture her. She’s tired, shaking, panting, and whimpering at every touch and bit of cloth touching her as they feel like needles digging in her skin. She almost forgets how hungry she is until her stomach cramps, adding to her extreme discomfort in the too soft bed. The broth makes her want to vomit and so does the medicine but she forces it down before unknowingly, and fitfully, drifting off again.

Another hour passes by before Fili shifts on the couch in the front room. He takes in the cleaner than before room and the smell of Lena’s lavender shampoo drifting through the air. “Clara? What happened here? What did I miss?” he wonders. Sleep really had been the right choice, although he’s loath to admit it to her, and it had restored his energy enough for now.

“Lena woke up about an hour after you fell asleep,” she informs him and gives him a rundown of the other events.

Fili sees red. “And you didn’t think to wake me? I am courting her! I can take care of her!” he begins to raise his voice but stops when Lena shifts.

“Outside,” Clara snaps. Her tone is as sharp and cold as he's ever heard it. She prepares herself for mental combat as she steels her nerve and fortifies her arguments. Fili looks angry and still anxious. The second the door shuts, she pounces. “You haven’t slept in two days Fili. You needed sleep to live and function. You have been doing fantastically with her, but you are too worried. If you had been awake at the same time you would have hovered and fretted over her, and she certainly didn’t want that from me,” Clara continues as she plows through any point he could bring up.

“She shouldn’t have gotten up. She needs to rest, and I can take care of her just fine,” he repeats forcefully and Clara sighs. _‘Men!’_ she screams to herself.

“How long does the flu last?” she asks quickly.

“What? What does that matter?” he retorts tartly like an errant teenager.

“Well, the human flu can last around one week or so, so unless you can stay awake for over a week straight then you’re going to need help. Thorin also needs your help, not mine and not Lena’s. You have a mountain full of people who would gladly help and you are letting them down by not doing your duties. My only duty is to learn with Lena so I do have the time to take care of her.”

He drags his rough hand over his beard and eyes as her points begin to make sense. “Fine!” he concedes, “I will stay with her for a few hours then will let you take care of her until the evening. I want to stay with her through the night,” he bargains to which Clara nods.

And so the day goes on with the two of them switching out with Lena simply turning in the mountain of blankets with brief moments of lucidity. Clara would give both of her thumbs for some modern drugs and fever reducers. By the fifth day, they begin to tire and require another set of hands to help them. The company is more than ready to step in and help but they don’t need thirteen shifts. The fever is the biggest monster to slay but it hangs around Lena and refuses to break for longer than two hours before surging back up.

Another day passes and now Clara is getting a little edgy. “How long do normal illnesses last here?” she asks Thorin one night as she takes a break and braids her hair.

“Unfortunately, not as long as this my love,” he replies ruefully. “Oin will try everything he can to help. You know this.” She nods and continues braiding. On the seventh day the fever breaks and everyone releases a breath they didn’t know they were holding, but now Lena sleeps peacefully.

It’s not until the sunlight pours into the room and lights up the dust motes swirling in the air that she stirs. The blankets are heavy on her chest but aren’t as hot as they were before. Any thoughts she has of the last time she was awake are blurry and distorted, so she gives up and settles for sinking further into the bed before Clara’s intrusive voice crashes her peace.

“Good morning sunshine! Wake up! You’ve been asleep for a month!” _‘A month?’_ she thinks as she turns to the source. The smirk on her friend’s face tells her that’s not true. “Okay, fine, you were asleep for a few days.” Clara figures it’s as good a time as any to screw around with her now that the danger has passed.

“Mother? Mother, I have the consumption,” she whispers faintly, piteously from the bed, but while the dwarves look on like she’s about to take her last breath Clara rolls her eyes.

“Uh huh,” she scoffs before flopping down in her bedside chair. “Yeah and I have the pox.” She simply laughs before leaning in next to Lena and whispering dramatically, “And tell dear pa-pa that I fear I will never again see the farm for the winter has been dreadfully long!” This even brings tired Lena to a dry round of chuckling.

“There’s no need to put a brave face on this lass,” Dwalin pipes up from the bottom of the bed which makes Lena’s eyes go wide at the realization there’s an audience. “She’s very ill,” he continues only to balk at the expression on their faces.

“I’m not dying dummy,” Lena whispers hoarsely from the mountain of blankets.

“Yeah I don’t know what you think is happening but she’s not dying. She’s pitiful, pathetic even, but not dying.”

“She may be rallying but it could mean the death rally,” Balin informs seriously. There are scattered nods and downcast looks.

 _‘Death rally?’_ Clara thinks for a moment before the lightbulb comes on. “Yeah, that may happen to some people but she just had the flu," she explains quickly. “Lena just had the flu and she is not actively dying,” she repeats to the crowd.

“Yeah I’m right here and I’m not dying,” she croaks and reaches for the water on the side table. “I’m also not deaf,” she scolds a bit more clearly this time.

“I do believe I'm the healer here," Oin emphasizes with a shake of his bag. "You had us worried for a minute there lassie,” Oin interjects with a sharp wave to everyone, a sign to clear out, as he pulls his ear trumpet out to listen to her breathing. “You don’t sound as clear as I’d like but yer much better than before.”

With a less severe glare Clara ‘tsks’ at Fili as if to say ‘told you so’ before pouring another glass of water, gently squeezing Lena’s foot then heading out to leave them alone. It’s quiet for a few minutes as Lena gets comfortable again among the mountains of comforters and reaches out for Fili’s hand.

“How are you doing? Did I get you sick? I didn’t mean to kick you out of the bed for so long.” Her apologies are fairly weak in volume but completely heartfelt as she takes in his appearance. Fili looks more frazzled than usual with his tired eyes and messy hair.

“I would sleep on the ground for the rest of my days if it meant you would be well,” he swears quietly before smiling brightly. “I slept on the couch in the front room for a little while, and no you did not get me ill. Human illnesses have no way of touching us,” he proclaims proudly as he puffs his chest out causing a dry chuckle past Lena’s lips.

“Well I’m all better now, and certainly not dying like you might have thought. Come and sleep with me now. You’ll be a good replacement for all of these blankets that are way too hot,” she smirks. “How can I be tired again already! I’ve basically slept for a week!” she complains suddenly as a wave of tiredness overwhelms her and her eyes close for a long moment before struggling to stay open.

Fili’s laugh is finally carefree as he’s once again positive she’s going to be alright. He will take any and all of her complaints if it means he gets to see her eyes open again and be a part of her adventures. Removing the heavy sheets from her and replacing them with his own heat, he presses himself close to her. “Just never scare me like that again,” he whispers and falls into the most serene sleep he’s had all week.


	2. Clara's migraines while living in Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara has an unfortunate trait passed from her parents; being able to sense bad weather. This results in her getting crippling migraines the dwarves don't know how to deal with. She has to rely on Thorin and Lena to get her needs across and give her comfort since she doesn't have the comfort of modern medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed there aren't a lot of migraine fanfictions which is a shame, but understandable. I also noticed that all fanfiction is basically an AU self-insert fanfiction.  
> Enjoy a protective Thorin and lots of hurt/comfort for my character Clara!

Third Person POV

“The trade routes to the north are perfectly fine. The trade routes to the east can be rerouted westward to avoid bandits-,” Thorin goes on as he talks only to the council members responsible for trade road negotiations well into the third hour. Clara’s head has been slowly killing her all day, squeezing her skull like an iron vice with no intention of easing.

The pain that had started as a pin-prick when she woke has evolved into a roaring thunder, encompassing all of her thoughts. It’s left no part of her head and neck untouched by pain. Even her teeth feel as though they’re about to fall out any moment.

 _‘How could this get any worse?_ ’ she thinks through the thunder, and it’s as if the universe is happy to respond and spit in her eyes. The next time she opens her eyes, two blotches begin to blur until she can’t read the papers in front of her. Auras bounce and spin around everything when she looks directly at it and the light in the chamber burns all the way to the backs of her eyes. This mixed with the throbbing causes nausea to rise in her stomach violently and she tries to keep her breathing steady. She's aware she must have started sweating because her hands feel moist but she feels ice cold.

She can feel herself wilting downward in the unforgivingly hard chair. Her back muscles protest at the slouching but it’s all she can do to not curl into a ball and cry. She closes her eyes for a moment, hoping for some silence through the fading voices around her, but it doesn’t come. A sudden hand on her shoulder causes her to jerk sharply, her neck muscles pinching as she does, adding to the splintering pain going through her. It takes all she has to not whimper in front of the few council members.

“You are needed elsewhere my lady,” Balin says to her softly. He may know she's in pain but he doesn't know his voice is just as painful as every other noise in the large chamber. She’s unable to control the way she sways as she stands. Balin grips her elbow tightly as he pins her arm to his side and begins to lead her out. Clara guesses that he tried to do it subtly but there’s a slight pause in Thorin’s speaking that catches her attention. It’s only for a moment before he continues his- whatever it is he’s doing- she can’t remember at this point, but misses the concerned glance he spares her.

She can’t begin to catch her breath once she’s out in the hall. She fights the urge to curl in on herself and cry. The luminescent shafts in the ceiling blind her with light and pain so fierce tears fall from her eyes and whimpers begin to creep out of her mouth. She leans against the closest wall and presses the heels of her hands against her eye sockets, but not before Balin and Jorah notice. “Can’t stay here Balin.” Her voice is tight. “Hurts. My room please?” She doesn’t see, but she hears him hand all of his papers to the nearest scribe before grabbing her shoulders.

“Aye, exactly my thoughts. Do you need me to fetch a healer?” _'YES! YES! YES!'_ her thoughts scream as she pictures a doctor from her world. It's just as crushing when she remembers it's all herbs here.

The only thing she can do is shudder. “No. Migraine. Need- dark, quiet room,” she can barely choke out.

Her guard exchanges looks with Balin before kneeling below her, trying to meet her eyes but failing. He's never seen his charge so distraught and it shakes him easily. “Do you need me to carry you?” Jorah asks her gently, rare of the gruff and thick muscled warrior. Her stomach lurches sharply at the thought of the swinging sensation of being carried and it take a few gasping breaths before she can answer.

“No!” she whimpers as she tightens her hold on her eyes. She feels awful that they have to wait as she pulls herself together, but the last thing she wants is to fall and to have Jorah carry her. The two help Clara through the halls at a snail’s pace, correcting minor swaying and stumbling every few minutes. She needs to stop frequently as they ascend endless stairs and her nausea picks up. After taking twice as long as it would normally take, they arrive at the room.

“Thanks, sorry,” she whimpers before disappearing quickly into the suite. Everything kills her. She stumbles her way over to the desk in the front room, hastily scribbling out, **_’Migraine. Head hurts. Quiet. Lena_ knows.’**, in her script, her brain not functioning nearly enough to translate into Khuzdul or runes or even this world's common language. She drops it on the floor in front of the bedroom doors, hoping Thorin gets the message.

On her way to the large bed, she snatches up a roll of hand wraps she uses in the stables when she has to lead the rams around. She had learned the hard way how rope-burned her hands would get without them. She can hardly make it to the bed before falling in fully clothed, shoes and all. She has neither the effort nor energy to put out the fire so this is the only option left. It’s a gargantuan effort to tie the wraps around her eyes, not caring how it messes her hair up and catches strands in the knots.

Clara’s unable to tell how long she lies there in agony. The bed spins and rocks under her as she’s forced to feel everything from her neck up ache. She knows crying will make it worse but her eyes betray her as they continue to leak. All she does know is the pain isn’t going away. _‘Storm’_ her brain throws to the front. _‘Big storm.’_ She can almost laugh at that. Thinking of home, people from the Midwest have been fabled to know when a storm or large weather change is coming from days away, acting as a human barometer of sorts. _‘It’s real.’_

She barely hears the door open over the throbbing in her ears, but she feels a presence in front of her. Hands carefully take hers and she instantly recognizes the rings on the fingers. _‘Thorin’_ she realizes desperately. Just the thought of him helping makes her bottom lip tremble and one pitiful puff of air akin to a sob leaves her lips.

Thorin's forehead is hot against hers as he rests it there for a long moment. The solid contact is better than when he tries to run his fingers along her cheek. She pulls away from that and scrunches her face up as the throbs grow harsher. “Do you need a healer?" Her only response is hidden tears pooling in her eyes and little sobs as she craves comfort. "What do you need?” His voice is a breath over a whisper and even that drives nails further behind her eyes.

"No," she whispers back with another small sob. She knows he’s trying to be as silent as possible but it doesn’t help. All she wants, and is unable to communicate that she wants, is complete silence. She pulls his hand from hers and makes a writing motion. His presence moves away as she hears him get a quill and paper, returning as quickly and quietly as he can.

It’s pushed into her hands and guided down onto the paper. She scribbles a short stream of consciousness onto the paper. _‘ **Hurts migraine big storm 2day no help my world med’**_ before she can’t focus on writing anymore. The quill drops from her shaky hand and Thorin retreats once more.

He takes the paper back to the front room where Lena waits for him to return. He couldn’t read the first letter anyway and put together that it was most likely meant for Lena to read to him. The brunette had obviously been in large amounts of pain during council, and from Balin’s report, she had barely been holding herself up, let alone together, and said something about a migraine. 'W _hatever that is'_ he shakes his head at the foreign word. He kicks himself for not dismissing her or already calling a healer against her protests, but now he has to live with it.

Lena takes one look over the paper translating, “’I have a migraine and my head really hurts. There’s a big storm today and we don’t have medication here from our world.’ Oh,” she shakes her head. Of course! She doesn’t wait for prompting from Thorin. “We have special medications for migraines in our world because other painkillers don’t work. That’s what she means by ‘no help’”, the blonde summarizes.

“How long will she be like this?” His heart could pound out of his chest. Even looking at her with binds over her eyes was nearly enough for him to rush and see if she was hurt. He wanted to rip them from her and free her but after a second thought, she must have put them there for a reason, even if he can't figure it out.

Lena shrugs. “Either until it goes away on its own or until the storm passes. Let me ask her if she can keep anything down.” Thorin’s look of impatience and confusion makes her sigh. “Migraines are like headaches to the extreme. It’s severe sensitivity to light and sound. It messes with your ability to eat, speak, move and some people can’t be touched when they have one. I’m bedridden and can’t drink anything when I get it. It's like comparing a splinter to a broken arm.” This causes his eyes to widen. 

She retrieves the quill and papers and goes back in. This time she gets more direct answers before Clara has to give up in tears.

He can feel his fingertips twitching with impatience as he waits for her to speak. “Well we have no to eating and drinking, yes to touch, and she’s had it for six hours that she can tell.” Thorin’s mouth goes dry before he springs himself into action. “So you’re taking it from here I assume?” Lena asks herself rhetorically seeing as he’s already out of the front room. She takes her leave to head back to her own room for the afternoon.

Thorin's cautious this time about the door opening and closing, making sure the latch doesn't sharply click and the door doesn't creak. He watches every noise he makes like a hawk. He treads quietly into the bedroom and takes off his outer layers of clothing, mainly the council robes and shoes, before slipping into bed behind Clara. He doesn’t know the first thing about these migraines but he’ll do anything he can to help. As he gets closer, he notices she’s still fully dressed. _‘Odd’_ he notes but doesn’t undress her for fear her moving might make it worse.

Clara knows he's there but doesn’t turn around because she doesn't have the strength. She simply pulls the covers up to her chin and curls in on herself more. Thorin's frown deepens as he watches her curl into a tight ball, unmoving after a minute. His large hand comes to rest softly on her shoulder and strokes as if she's made of the thinnest glass. He switches between rubbing her shoulder above the blankets and her back below the blankets. Lena hadn't specified what type of touch she had agreed to, and Thorin is too afraid to ask Clara himself. So, he decides to stick with anything below her shoulders.

They stay like this for over two hours. Clara falls in and out of sleep but still doesn’t stir. If it wasn’t for the change in her breathing and occasional whines, Thorin would have thought she was asleep. It isn’t until supper does he leave the bed, giving her blanket-covered shoulder a kiss. For a second he thought about getting it sent up here, but that would have meant moving from the bed and far too much noise for Clara.

Clara, on the other hand, is ready to take a spoon to her eyes. They feel as though they’re about to fall out of their sockets _'so why not help them out'_. Her teeth haven’t improved much, constantly sending shocks of pain up her jaw and sinuses, and the front of her skull feels ready to fracture off. She would rather take a punch to the head from Dori than endure another minute of this. Thorin’s silent comfort had helped immensely but of course he had to leave. _‘Probably dinner.’_ Not that she could eat anyway. The thought of food brings a rising wave of nausea she barely forces back down. 

She closes her eyes under the blindfold as she tries for sleep once again. The short nap had helped, but not by much. Her body is exhausted from fighting this battle so all she can do at this point is lie there and take it.

At some point, she can't tell how long it's been, Thorin returns and continues stroking her back gently. This time, falling asleep is quicker and easier. When she wakes up it’s a blessing the space behind her eyes doesn’t hurt. The ache in her jaw is gone and the pain in her sinuses is gone too. Her head throbs lightly but it's nothing compared to before she got into bed yesterday. The relief of not having pain is overwhelming and the sheer lack of sensation is blissful.

Her stomach growls at her loudly, craving water and solid foods. _'Should get up while I have the energy'_ she tells herself. Slipping the blindfold off, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and sits still for a moment, silently assessing herself. She snags the water pitcher from the front room and enjoys the feeling of something settling in her stomach. There's no food at this time, but she'll manage.

She takes her time walking back into the bedroom over to the fire, trying to figure out what time it is since her internal clock is broken. She kicks off the shoes, unlaces the gown and undergarments before she tosses them on the floor for later. She slips on the first tunic she finds with a sigh. She's startled for a second as the sheets rustle suddenly in the close quiet, causing her to whip around to the bed.

“Clara?” She finds Thorin sitting straight up, hands balled in the sheets, looking at her with a deep frown and furrowed brow. “Is everything alright? Are you well?”

She nods knowing he can see it. “Yeah,” she replies with a ghost of a smile on her lips, "I'm okay." He visibly relaxes and sighs.

“Come back to bed.” To anyone else it would have sounded like an order, but to her ears she can hear the plea hidden there. _‘Show me you’re alright, come back to me.’_ She gladly goes back to him, slipping under the covers and resting her head on his chest. She's always forgotten how much she misses human contact when she's unable to stand it from an illness or injury.

“What time is it?” she wonders. The last definitive time she can remember is two in the afternoon the day before. That was before the meeting began, when her migraine was tolerable.

“Sometime in the small hours,” he grunts as he searches his own internal clock. “How is your pain? Seeing you like that. . . it frightened me," he whispers reluctantly. 

Clara frowns. She didn't realize this would affect him so much or cause him pain too. "I'm sorry. The pain is almost non-existent." _'Thank gods.'_ "There's just a little throbbing left over and some tenseness in my neck. How bad was the storm?”

His chest vibrates as he groans even louder. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t get a raven to Dale in time. The lower streets have flooded. The River Running has broken its banks here and further down as well. And you honestly say you cannot tell the future?”

Clara groans back. “No. You and I can thank my father for this stupid fucking curse. Any time it storms or there’s a hard frost, it makes my head go crazy. That and changing seasons.” She groans and rubs her face. “If we’re being honest, having a migraine here and not having medicine from my world really sucks.”

“Did you not want a healer?”

She's tempted to roll her eyes, but she settles for a little scoff. “Of course I did, but anything they would have given me wouldn’t have worked. It’s not chemical or inside my body,” she shortens, “it’s all environmental. Can’t make it really stop until it storms or they give me some pretty strong medicine.”

His arms wrap around her protectively. “Is there anything I could have done?” His breath is soft against the top of her head, and his warmth is reminding her how exhausted she is.

“You did everything right. Thank you for asking me what I needed. I didn’t want to be alone.” His following grunt is familiar, meaning _‘it’s the least I could do and you know it, but I’m glad’_. “Let’s go to sleep and then we can deal with storm damages tomorrow.”

“You’ll take it slowly tomorrow?” _‘You WILL take it slowly tomorrow’_ she amends his sentence internally.

“Yes, I will. I couldn’t give 100% even if I wanted to,” she mutters. There’s a soft kiss placed on her head before Thorin’s arms grow heavy with relaxation on her frame. _‘Maybe it won’t actually be so bad getting migraines here.'_


	3. Missed Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their world left behind, both women now realize that means the loss of their traditions. It hits them harder then they realize and it overwhelms them in front of the company. They have to look deep in themselves and face their memories they have tried hard to push away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or its characters, only my own.
> 
> Thank you so much Stanluna for the great prompt! It was really fun to write it because it's something I never thought of before. I'm really glad I could make it come to life for you!

The spring air is crisp and clear as the sun sets and brings the evening dew. The company gathers slowly for dinner together. They don’t get to do it as often as they did before with all of the rebuilding of their kingdom, but every once in a while satisfies their need to be together. Topics are tossed back and forth and soon enough drinks flowing and laughter is echoing through the small hall.

Fili leans in Clara and Lena’s direction. “It’s almost Kili’s name day! He’s going to be a whopping 79 years old. He’s turning into an old dwarf before our eyes!”

“He is? That’s exciting!” Clara cheers happily for him. He’s excited about it as well. The youngest looks proud to almost be another year older. His smile is bright and beaming and so is Fili’s

“When is your name day?” That sends a chill down Lena and Clara’s spines. Dread coils in their stomachs and their smiles fade instantly. There’s no response from the brunette woman. “Clara?” She startles.

“Yes? Sorry, what did you ask?”

“Do you celebrate your name day? When is it?”

She looks around to the dwarves at the table that are now tuned into their conversation, all waiting for an answer. “Name day? You mean a birthday, right?” He nods his head. “Well, uh,” she hums nervously, “it was in the summer. June, uh, I mean the sixth month of the year. A few days before the beginning of summer.” She watches every one of their faces drop as they realize they’ve missed it. Once on the adventure, and would have not thought about it until it passed again.

Clara didn’t expect it to hurt this much to talk about. Michigan comes rushing back to her as she can practically feel the sunshine on her face and see the scrubby grass in her yard that never grew right. She can almost feel the dandelions between her bare toes. He might as well have ripped opened her chest right there.

Fili’s is a mask of horror as her revelation dawns on him. “Lena?” It never crossed his mind, not once. It should have, but it didn’t. He’s heartbroken at her expression.

She nods her head sadly too. The memories of her birthday are haunting now that everyone who was in attendance from the other world might as well be a ghost, people she’ll never see again.

She decides to keep it short and sweet to avoid tearing up, “In the spring. The fifth day of the fifth month.” She watches as the wheels in their brains turn and then it clicks. They missed her birthday twice. Not by a lot the second time, but it’s been missed.

“B-but you never said anything,” Ori says in a small voice. It’s not accusatory but it’s pleading. “Everyone should celebrate their name day!” The rest of the company wears smiles on their faces with the notion of more large parties with ale and feasting. They just don’t understand why the two are so sad.

Kili, oh sweet Kili, tries to make the women smile with an animated, “It’s a time of celebration for everyone! A wonderful day!”

The only one at the table with any sense of foreknowledge is Thorin and he knows where this is headed with his eyes shut. He braces himself as the words from his company continue on.

“Aye! It’s a special day indeed!” Gloin interjects with vigor. “Full of gifts and family and loved ones!” The words are just out of Gloin’s mouth before multiple pairs of eyes widen and mouths turn into frowns. He’s horrified at what he’s pointed out and what they’ve all forgotten.

_‘It seems they forgot about a lot of things’_ Clara thinks. Snatched out of their beds in the middle of the night with no say, barely anything from their world, and all without a return ticket. What a way to go. It may not be exactly like a fiery dragon, but it’s pretty damn close. They lost everything in just a few moments with no rhyme or reason.

His eyes fall to the ground in shame. “I’m sorry,” Gloin apologizes quickly.

Lena’s face is impassive and unfeeling as she automatically replies, “Don’t worry, it’s fine.” She knows it’s anything but fine, but they’ve gone so long without talking about their lives in their other world. Yes, Lena has talked about technology and her studies, but not about personal matters. She and Clara had made a silent deal early on in the quest not to talk about their families or their personal lives and there are VERY few times they’ve broken that deal.

The room stays quiet for a few minutes because no one knows what to say. “Really forget about it, it’s fine,” Clara repeats even though no one believes her. Thorin watches her face carefully for any other signs of distress, any sign she will need to flee or need to be held together.

Lena is glued to her seat by thirteen pairs of eyes. “Lass I,” Gloin tries to apologize again and Lena snaps.

“I said it’s fine.” It comes out much sharper than she meant it to, but it stops him from talking and that’s all that matters to her. “We don’t celebrate them here and that’s fine by us,” she insists after a moment.

Bofur slaps his animated face back on to cheer everyone up, but it’s very forced. “If you don’t want to talk about your name day do you have any other holidays? Like Durin’s day is for us?”

Both women’s minds drift through the last few months. Fall had rolled by with the battle, Thanksgiving rolled by with starvation and death brought on by an early winter and little food to go around. They were still mentally healing and struggling with nightmares and flashbacks. Their holiday never crossed their minds when there was no bounty to be found although there was much to be thankful for. Christmas had come and gone with each and every person struggling to get through the harsh and merciless weather with even less food. They were still struggling with the battle and their new learning duties. New Years hadn’t registered in their minds one bit.

Clara snaps out of it and nods, saying, “Yeah. We have holidays for our country, and for celebrating family. We have another one, but it seems silly now.” They wait for her to talk more but she leaves it at that.

“Aye, well what is it?” Nori asks impatiently, his hands splaying outward on the table with emphasis.

“Alright, alright! It’s Halloween.” Lena nods in understand when Clara says it. It’s more than a little tasteless to celebrate monsters and death in a world where there are actually monsters and death.

“Well explain it then! Won’t do us any good asking you questions every few seconds,” Dwalin gripes from his seat. That does make a few others huff in thanks and annoyance.

Lena shakes her head. The sadness from earlier is gone but irritation is quickly replacing it. “It’s celebrating monsters and scary things that live in the dark like ghosts and ghouls.” She already knows their reaction before it happens. One by one their lips curl into sneers ranging from disgust, anger, and disbelief.

Thorin’s glare is the coldest of them all. “You would celebrate the monsters that slaughter innocents?” Thorin asks. Lena wants to vomit from the sheer anger that suddenly rises from the table.

“That’s sick!”

“How is that anything to celebrate?”

“Must be sick in the head,” one of them whisper.

“Whole world must be,” another whispers back.

Clara’s ready to hit her head against a wall. First they rip open old wounds with their birthday nonsense and now they forget there are no monsters in their world? “Fucking hell!” she spits, and everyone jumps at her tone and volume. “We don’t have monsters in our world! Our goblins are supposed to be small and cute and cause mischief, not torture and eat people!” That certainly quiets them down. “Of course we’re not going to celebrate that here! Back home I can definitively say there are no monsters hiding under the bed or in the closet, but here it’s a solid maybe!”

Lena jumps in on the running rant with a pacifying explanation faster than any of their audience can interrupt. “We don’t celebrate our holidays here because our worlds are extremely different. None of our history makes sense here. One holiday is basically about celebrating the day we overthrew our king and staged a coup, so we can’t go about that in public, and religious ones will make everyone think we’re disrespecting Mahal or Yavanna so those are out too.” Lena barely finishes before Clara is picking up.

“Then we’re left with the ones that hurt the most. The ones that are done with close family, and I don’t want to talk about those, so please just forget about our holidays. You may want to celebrate them, but we don’t and it’s really fine with us.”

The tension could be cut with a knife. Gloin clears his throat and scratches at his head guiltily. “Well, that is very different. We had forgotten much of what you told us about your world during the quest.”

Lena’s frustration intensifies a little as she wants them to just drop the subject and talk about something else. “It’s alright. We understand and it’s okay.”

“Let’s talk about something else, like Ori,” she calls him out from the group with a smile, “had any luck reorganizing the library here?” She laughs at the end because everything here is old as dust.

The red head shakes his head with a smile. “Unfortunately not. There are still books and scrolls in dark corners.” From there, the conversations slowly begin to pick back up and the tension eases greatly.

“Have a good night everyone,” Lena bids them with Fili on her arm. The couple makes their way up the stairs and shut themselves in the warm room. Her heart is still heavy in her chest.

“I know you said it was fine, but I need to make sure. Are you alright after tonight?” It’s a loaded question and Fili’s stomach is in knots knowing she may not tell him the truth, but he watches her shake her head ‘no’. Her bottom lip trembles.

He knew this was coming. They don’t talk about the other world and now he knows why. It dredges up so many memories that he’s sure she doesn’t want. She occasionally cries in her sleep, whisks herself off with Clara to talk about who knows what, and then come back with red rimmed eyes.

“Come here.” She rushes into his arms and allows herself to drown in the pain that was brought up. It may be close to a year since they were taken from their home, but it can be overwhelming at times.

She doesn’t weep and she doesn’t speak as Fili holds her together. Her mind is going at a million miles an hour. A year without her parents and brother, a year without her friends, and a year without any sense of modern technology. She wallows in the feeling of this loneliness. _‘Stop that!’_ her brain screams. _‘You have Fili, you have Clara, you have a whole new family here, and you have a life here!’_ it continues. This is what snaps her out of her self-pity.

“I’ll be alright Fee. I promise.” Eventually, she tells herself, she’ll really believe it.

They part their hug with him pressing a kiss to Lena’s cheek. “Will you allow me to get you a small gift for your name day? Two actually,” he smirks happily, no longer worried about making her cry.

She thinks about it, she really does. She’s seen some of the gifts they give their partners and they exceed extravagance. It’s culture shock to the Nth degree. A single present would be worth more than she could make in a year. Clara’s crown alone costs more than she could make in five, even if she spent every penny she had. Here, however, it’s just normal. It’s something akin to penguins giving their mates rocks. Just another pretty stone among thousands.

“Let me think about it,” she responds. “And even if I say yes, it’ll only be to one gift.” Fili chuckles because if she had it her way, she’d wear practical clothing only. None of those elegant gowns would see the light of day and none of her precious stone necklaces would either.

Clara and Thorin have stayed behind fifteen minutes later than the other pair. Just long enough to watch the company slowly trickle out and leave them alone.

“Shall we?” she motions to the large doors, alluding to going back to their room and preparing for the next day. _‘It’s a shame they don’t have weekends here’_ she internally sighs. Every new day is more work and it never ends.

As they leave, Thorin brushes his hand along her waist, then his fingers interlock with hers once they reach the royal wing. Thorin knows better than to press her. He’d rather wait for her to bring it up than to close her off accidentally. A little while passes, but she finally speaks.

The firelight dances on her face. “I should apologize to Gloin. I was too rude,” she huffs. He remains silent (which is unlike him for the most part) as she purses her lips and turns to face him. “I know you’re curious, you can ask.” That’s all it takes.

“Your response was appropriate, if not too tame,” he rumbles. “I would not worry about Gloin. Why do you let yourself forget about your culture?” he asks. It’s been eating away at him ever since dinner. They had explained their hesitancy in sharing holidays, but those reasons shouldn’t bar them from celebrating on their own.

"Excuse you?" she balks but shuts her mouth when Thorin's expression mirrors it with surprise. She takes a deep breath to steady herself. She might as well get it all out in the open and Thorin is an incredible listener. An unbelievable one actually. “It hurts so much I can hardly breathe. But you’re wrong. I don’t want to forget about it. I want to have it back, have the normalcy of it back, but I don’t want to lose it.”

He continues on with the truth, “It feels as though you torture yourself with your thoughts. Would it not be easier to mourn your loss then remember it fondly?”

 _‘Damn him’_ she thinks. “No because they aren’t dead, they’re just gone. I hope they’re still alive, my family,” she clarifies, “but I have no way of knowing. Who knows what happened to me there. I could be in a coma in the hospital, healing ward,” she corrects. “I fell asleep in my bed before I came here. I could have died there or worst of all I could’ve just disappeared and I’ll stay missing.”

She looks him in the eyes as she says, “There are too many ‘ifs’ but death has none of them. I can’t mourn a set of ‘ifs’ because the list is endless.”

There’s a solid minute of silence before he sighs, “Sometimes you are too wise for your own good.” That makes both of them laugh a little because they know her sageness comes from sass, luck, and a unique childlike perspective of the world. His, on the other hand, has been broken and cracked, repaired more times than he can count and then shattered again.

“Think about letting us celebrate your name day. It may not be the normalcy you desired but it can be if you let it.”

“Fine!” she relents with a goofy grin. “Yes, you can celebrate my name day, but it has to be small and it has to be low-key. That’s non-negotiable.” Thorin can feel her tension melt away along with any sadness that was brought up during supper. It leaves the both of them with smiles adorning their faces and a light feeling in their hearts.


	4. Food in Middle Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena and Clara have gone through a whole six month journey with dwarves, met elves, slain a dragon, and died. It was full of experiences that they will never forget and ones that helped them grow to love Middle Earth in its good and bad forms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or its characters, only my own. 
> 
> Thank you so much to Bigman24 for this great prompt! It was so much fun to write, and I'm glad that people coming across these little stories like them. These are really nice snippets that I can add to give the characters more depth and life than what the big plot is able to show.

Third person POV

The first thing the two women notice is that everything in Middle Earth takes a lot of effort. Nothing is ever easy and that includes the food. Standing in Bag End, Clara’s jaw drops when she sees just how much Bilbo has in his pantry. There are a few raw ingredients like unprocessed fruits or vegetables, but there’s an overabundance of dried poppy seed cakes, jars of jams and jellies, sausage links smelling of garlic and rosemary, and so much more. His larder is equally as impressive with cured meats, pickled eggs, five fresh fish, and all sorts of cheeses in hefty blocks.

“How do you even decide what to eat for seven meals?” she asks to no one in particular. Bilbo’s eyes bug out of his head for a moment before shaking his head and wiggling his nose.

“Every meal has a purpose. For example, eggs and bacon at breakfast with some biscuits topped with marmalade. Then you have sweeter foods for second breakfast like bread with honey, and clotted cream and strawberries!” he exclaims with barely concealed excitement. It looks as though he can barely contain himself once he starts talking about all of these delectable meals. “There’s breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, and then finally supper!”

Now it’s Clara’s turn to widen her eyes at just how elaborate the whole process is. No wonder people underestimate hobbits in both ability and stomach size! She knows the dwarves will clear everything out by the end of the night, but it still shocks her to her core to see nothing left.

Someone must have gone to the market in the early hours because a small breakfast is being made with the same promise there will be nothing left. They take Thorin’s promise of being left behind very seriously and rise with the company, eat with the company, and aren’t a second late.

Traveling proves far more difficult than they both had thought. Their first impressions were that it would be like camping, but their minds were quickly swayed once their legs went numb from being in a saddle for well over eight hours in the sun. Their only snacks were cram, a very biscuit like cracker that’s like eating a handful of saltines without water, and some apples. The fresh foods are eaten early on because no one wants to see such good food go to waste.

‘ _It’s like they know what’s going to come later on in the journey_ ’ Lena thinks to herself after watching them gobble little cakes and cheeses.

On the outskirts of The Shire, there is still plenty of game like small deer and rabbit. Foraging vegetables is remarkably easy once Bilbo shows the two what to look for. There are wild carrots that grow all wonky and knotty and small onions that go into the stew every night. They pick enough to last a few days and divide it up evenly.

“Do you know how to cook?” Thorin asks them one night. It’s very out of the blue from his usual behavior of ignoring them.

Lena silently communicates with Clara for a moment with their eyebrow raises and mouth tics before turning and giving a very solid, “Yes, we can cook. What do you need us to do?”

He looks at her with his classic glare. “Cook.” That’s the last thing he says to them for the rest of the night as the two take over chopping and peeling vegetables while Bombur fetches water.

“Who the fuck does he think he is,” Lena grumbles as she dices carrots into neat cubes. “I won’t bow to any fucking man,” she continues bitterly. He barely speaks to them in the first place then goes about and orders them around with one syllable words! Where does he find the audacity!

“You’ve gotta chill out for the night. It’s only going to be worse if we make him hate us even more than he already does,” Clara reasons in between her own internal grumbles. She raises her eyes to find him staring at her already and she feels brave. Throwing everything she just said to Lena away, she retorts, “Want to add anything?” He glares for another second before turning back to Balin.

Some of the other challenges that Middle Earth throws at them is eating foods they’ve never tried or seen before. Everything is used from the wild game that’s caught. They both know it’s been drilled into the group after years of hardship to use every part of the animal possible to trade, eat, sell, or save, but it’s getting a little extreme even for them. Everything from livers and kidneys are saved, and sometimes heads are used in the pot to “add flavor” Bombur tells them.

A few weeks into the journey, Clara looks at Lena with pleading eyes as Bombur ladles chunks of fish along with a head into her bowl. She keeps her head down as she walks back to her log, trying to figure out a way to not eat it without drawing attention to herself. _‘Throw it in the woods?’_ she wonders before dismissing the idea. _‘Someone, or something, will find it’_ she reasons. The only problem with thinking is that the lack of eating draws more attention to herself.

“What’s that face for lass?” Gloin teases as he watches her pick around the head with small grimace. She doesn’t look up at him but only stares back at the one eye she can see. “If the other lads see, they’ll fight you for it,” he quietly teases again, bordering on laughing now.

_‘It still has eyes’_ Clara internally groans as she feels her stomach twist and turn. She can barely manage the small, “It’s nothing,” back to Gloin before continuing to eat. There are a few chuckles from other members close by and a small nudge of an elbow from a neighbor.

“I’ll trade you one of Bilbo’s seed cakes for that bit of good luck!” Fili chuckles lowly, knowing the ruckus he’ll start.

“What-,” Kili starts but is cut off with a look from Thorin.

The black-haired grump himself, on the other hand, grunts and glares at her from the top of his own stew bowl. “You are not at liberty to be fussy about meals. Eat, you’ll need your strength.”

She snaps her head up to make sure he meets her eyes. “Why Your Highness! I would never dream of it!” she mocks with an innocent smile before turning back to her bowl. There’s a snort close by and a few coughs of shock. _‘Fuck! Now I have to eat it now that he’s said something!_ ’ It’s as close as any words of back-handed comfort she’ll receive from him at this rate, so it doesn’t do her any good to argue.

With one more desperate look at Lena before she wolfs it down like the rest of the company, stopping to pick apart the head squeamishly and stuff down what she can. She doesn’t want to be that last to finish her meal. She’s surprised to find it’s not half bad. There are scales and cartilage every other bite, but some bites are as good as any fillet.

Lena takes careful bites of her own stew after watching Clara get reprimanded in front of the others, watching out for a hidden ‘treat’ in her bowl. After that day they don’t do anything more than look at each other uncomfortably from over the fire or sit close by to talk in hushed whispers about the day.

Breakfast is always light in the morning. Bland barley porridge cooks over the fire at first light, so that by the time it’s eaten, and everyone is packed and ready, they can head out by dawn. Time may be difficult to tell for the two women but they both figure out quickly that Thorin is a drill sergeant when it comes to getting up on time. If one ever sleeps in, the other makes sure to get breakfast for them. It’s an unspoken rule among the company, but a rule nonetheless, that if you aren’t up to get food, you don’t eat it.

On the bad nights there is nothing more to go around than warm “soup” made with a few onions and nothing more. At best it’s something hot to put in their bellies.

“Here,” Clara says as she brings Thorin a bowl of soup. Hunting had been poor tonight. Every arrow missed and every trap was empty. There are a few chunks of vegetables like carrots and potatoes in the pot but no meat. She holds her own bowl in the other hand consisting of a chunk of each veggie but mainly warm broth.

He barely glances up at her before looking back down at his sword. “Switch the bowls,” he orders with a grunt. She doesn’t. “Did you hear me woman?” he grunts a little louder this time. Clara pushes the bowl toward him with an insistent expression.

“You’re not at liberty to be fussy about meals,” she quotes to him softly. “You’re a fighter and the leader. Take it, I’ll be fine.” They hold eye contact for a long moment, longer than Clara likes as she thinks he’s trying to make her back down. She won’t. His fingers touch hers when he relents and takes the bowl, watching as she goes back to her own spot next to Lena.

On the worst nights, the nights it’s too dangerous to light fires, they break apart cram and wash it down with cold water, freezing their already cold bodies, or if they’re lucky there is dried meat. The two women don’t often move from their spot together for fear of making fools of themselves in the dark and tripping over things. It’s nights like this that they, along with Bilbo, are often the subject of entertainment.

It gets more than a few grumbles and harsh words when Thorin announces there won’t be a fire tonight. There’s no reason for the two of them not to eat quickly and go to sleep early, so they set up their spots and stay there. They dig the cram out of their packs and break off palm sized pieces to gnaw on, making sure to conserve the water in their canteens if they can’t find a stream to refill them.

It’s one of those nights, early on, before the trolls, that Clara breaks. “I think I’m finally reaching my wits end with all of this and with him,” Clara whispers to Lena as they face each other from their bedrolls. Although they’re two separate sleeping mats, they lay side by side for warmth and the emotional comfort they bring to each other. Although they're making friends, they aren't doing it fast enough.

Lena immediately knows she has to be the strong one now. If both of them are ready to throw in the towel, Thorin will double down his nasty behavior to drive them away. “I know tonight has been tough, but we’re doing really really well for our circumstances,” Lena whispers back just as quietly. No one knows about their other world yet, and they plan to keep it that way. “Just go to bed and we can start again tomorrow. One day at a time, or at least let them all blur together. We just have to get to Erebor.”

Rivendell is more than a welcome respite from traveling in the wilds. The warm beds are more than welcome and the baths are heavenly. They stay there longer than it seemed in the movies, almost two weeks, and in this time they sleep in more than their fair share and disappear into corners and hallways for little naps.

“Lena?” Bofur calls from the end of one of the halls, spotting Lena curled up in a chaise lounge chair in indirect sunlight sporting a plate of bread, cucumber slices, and cherry tomatoes next to her. “Lass?” he tries again to wake her. He worries for a second but puts it out of his mind as she stirs and cracks one eyes open before shutting it.

“Hey Bo what’s up?” she slurs a little.

“What are you doing out here on your own? It’s not safe, no one’s on watch for you,” he explains dumbly as though any of them need a watch detail here. It’s one of the safest kingdom in Middle Earth next to The Shire and possibly Lothlorien.

She stretches her arms high above her head then reaches for some snacks. “I was napping obviously. It’s nice out here!” she smiles brightly. “Want some?” she offers the plate to the miner who gladly accepts her invitation without a second thought.

The best part, despite the bone deep relaxation and stress free environment, is the food. On-the-road stews are replaced by delicate cakes and pastries, salads with nuts and fruit, and flatbreads. It’s a vegetarian wet dream. The company obviously hates it as they wrinkle their noses and toss the food around the room while Lena, Clara, and Bilbo indulge themselves. The elves stop bringing vegetables for them, pulling meat out of nowhere for them to eat instead of throw.

Leaving Rivendell is difficult to say the least. They are “given” (definitely didn’t steal at all) supplies like apples, bread, dried meat, and more barley porridge for their way out. The first night back in the wilds made it feel as though they never left in the first place. The same bumpy ground under their bedrolls keeps them up longer than it should, and the cacophony of snores batters them once again.

Everything slowly gets worse from there with Thorin leading them at a near run up a mountain, and then with the thunder battle soaking everything on them. The Goblins claim about half of their supplies, and even though it’s better than all of it, the barley and dried meat were in the packs lost.

Arriving at Beorn’s is a blessing. Their wounds ache and they muscles are nearly done for. There is no food the first night besides what they have with them since, of course, they have not truly been invited in. When they finally are given a true welcome, there are honey cakes, fruits and nuts, cheese, and warm loaves of bread that also contain honey. Everything is a delight to eat, although the women have other things they’d rather do like bathe and sleep their aches away.

Mirkwood is almost as bad as the first leg of their journey. There can be no fires, no cooking, and the magical fog muddles their brains to mush. Although they don’t get lost and starve like in the book, the mental toll of the forest eats away at them just the same. Being stuck in the Elven King’s palace is bittersweet. The amenities are impressive and wonderful but being with the company is constantly on their mind. They get the same food as the dwarves, bread, grapes, and some slices of cheese. There would occasionally be a slice of meat, but not often enough for the men.

After escaping and reviving the two women from drowning, taking in the appearance of the company, Bard isn’t too thrilled about taking them to Lake Town. He’s even less thrilled about sharing his home with them for the next day. Very little to no food is shared in Lake Town for the two women, the whole experience teaching them about hungry bellies and the cold weather coming with winter. Being kicked out of the company and suffering bitter weather along with hunger is the lowest point for them in the whole journey. The eventually make their way back to Bard for anything he's willing to give them, and like the good person he is, he provides.

Their hunger only grows worse as they travel to Dale. The cold intensifies and the fires are barely able to keep it at bay. The only relief they find is Thranduil coming to their aid, winning over all of the remaining people of Lake Town. The loaf of bread they split between the two of them for nearly two and a half days doesn't give them the energy they need. It helps, but not enough to get them through the battle. They die on empty bellies with frost bitten fingers, but they are next to those who love them most of all.


	5. Clara's nightmares come to light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the beginning of Clara's nightmares after being brought back to life. Now she's stuck with her own aftermath of the battle. Lucky for her there's a mountain full of dwarves who have been through this more than once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations from Khuzdul:  
> amrâlimê – my love  
> Ùhùrudazl – battle memory  
> azaghâlithûh – my warrior that is young  
> kidhuzurâl – golden one

Clara can’t forget how the nightmares started. It wasn’t a slow build up so much as it was a grand crash of symbols and drums, the fanfare of a grand night terror.

_All she knows is she has to run and get out of this maze. The walls are made of dirt, the floor uneven, and it feels like the further she goes, the smaller the tunnel gets._

_“NO!” Clara yells out as the roof starts to crumble. Her fingers claw at dirt that won't hold, trying to find a way out but there’s nothing. The darkness grows bigger and bigger, consuming her like a monster from all sides. The floor gives out like the roof and there’s nothing to hold onto as she falls into a deep pit._

_“Get up! Get up! We can’t stay here!” someone yells. Hands of different people are grabbing her arms to pull her from the pile of dirt. A grave, she realizes in the back of her mind. “Keep moving!”_

_“Dwalin?” she whispers in the strange fog world, astonished he's even here. It isn’t until she looks around that she gets a good look at them all. Dwalin, Bofur, Kili, and Bard all dressed in a combat uniform from the real world. A World War II uniform with helmets and rifles attached to their backs. “This isn’t right. Dwalin!” she yells but he can’t hear her. His eyes are wild as they pull her through what looks like a trench slick with black mud. “It’s too muddy, I can’t!” she cries out at them, but they drag her through with a death grip on her shirt. Sigrid’s shirt._

_“We have to-,” Kili starts to shout but a deafening crack shoots him down, looking up at them. Dead. The other cracks split through the air like firecrackers going off, sending air whistling past her face. Down, I need to get down, she thinks for a second. No one else thinks of that. Dwalin is the first out of the trench but the first falling back and landing in a heap face first in the mud. Bard is next and last is Bofur, crying horribly and looking up at shadows._

_“GO BOFUR! GO!” she screams and begs but he won’t move. There’s a deafening shriek close by that makes her cover her ears. She tries to pick herself up, but her arms only sink further and further into the mud until she's stuck._

_The shriek returns and so do the shadows. Black descends over the pit, opening up eight eyes and four jaws, creating a Mirkwood spider. “Clara,” it taunts. “Clara, Clara, Clara,” it whisper over and over, jaws snapping with legs on either side of her body until--._

“CLARA!” another voice calls, taking place of the spider. A heavy weight is stuck to both of her shoulders, pushing down roughly. _‘GET IT OFF!’_ her brain screams, no, demands. Clara springs to life with a scream and flailing limbs, tears pouring out of her eyes as fast as they possibly can.

“CLARA!” someone yells again, but this time she recognizes it a little more through the haze. The immovable force doesn’t lessen instead increasing across her whole body, only her legs are left free. A scream, one as loud as she can give, rips through her when she can’t move a single muscle against the weight. She clenches her eyes shut and turns her head to the side, avoiding the inevitable.

“Clara wake up!” the voice calls again close to her ear. “Clara wake up!” it repeats, and this time she's forced to listen. She has to listen to the voice, what she think was being said this whole time, and stop screaming. Someone is talking to her. A real person. “Relax, calm down Clara. It’s just a dream, I promise it’s only a dream. It’s just a dream my love.”

Thorin. Middle Earth. Erebor. Dragon. Battle. Lena. Adventure. Somewhere in her a cord snaps and every drop of fight dies out as she becomes limp.

“Open your eyes, Clara. Open your eyes and look at me,” the voice whispers again and this time she knows it’s Thorin. The brunette opens her eyes to find her shirtless lover covering her, his hands pressing on her shoulders, his shins pinning her wrists and him sitting on her stomach. A shiver racks her frame as she realizes she's covered in a cold sweat and tears. Her whimpers and struggles alert Thorin she's more lucid than before even though her brain is screaming at her to get him off. “Are you with me now?” he asks once he sees brown eyes looking back at him. “Do you know where we are?”

Brown eyes meet blue and she nods in shock. His weight leaves her, but she's frozen for a moment. She suddenly feels sick and holds a hand over her mouth. Scrambling to the bathroom, she doesn't know where the vomit comes from, but it keeps coming up until her stomach is bone dry. She eventually notices the hands holding her hair and rubbing her shoulders as she retches. Her cold and clammy hand pats his as a silent 'move over' and he understands. She feels him watching her as she rinses her mouth and splashes her face with water.

“Come here,” he commands with an outstretched hand. His eyes and voice say pity, but she won't argue right now. “Do you know what that was?” A weak 'no' earns a sigh from him as they retreat into the bedroom. “It was a night terror. Don’t go apologizing,” he says sternly, anticipating her apology.“I thought they would start earlier than this, perhaps when you came back.” _‘He always calls it coming back. Makes it sound like a day trip instead of dying'_ she thinks. She stops just short of the bed as she feels sick terror run through her, but Thorin's not stupid or blind. “It's alright. It won’t return again tonight, I promise. You need rest, so rest with me.”

It wasn’t as easy as Thorin said it would be. Clara blessedly doesn't have more night terrors from that night on, but nightmares slowly trickle into her dreams night by night and leave her a teary fearful mess. Thorin is the one to wake her up every time, but guilt eats at her. She tries not sleeping for days at a time and drinking ‘special tea’ Oin gives her, but none of it is any use.

A week later she wakes with a sob on her lips. It the first thing that comes to mind along with the overwhelming panic. Her mind is always going past fight or flight and directly to freeze. It’s the seconds of sleep paralysis that keep her trapped and confused in the last moments of the dream, driving her mad.

She tightly presses her hand to her mouth, not wanting to wake Thorin, but it’s too late. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Thorin grunts behind her. He’s immediately up with a hand on her face and the other clutching a shaking elbow. “Come here,” he soothes and pulls the quivering shell she's been reduced to into his chest. “Deep breaths _amrâlimê_ , deep breaths,” he soothes again with broad strokes. Her crying doesn't last long, only as long as the dream remains at the forefront of her mind. Then it vanishes into whips of smoke and her tears stop.

Her guilt eats her as she whispers, "Thank you. I’m sorry, and yes I know you tell me not to apologize, but it’s not fair to wake you up with my nightmares,” she interjects before he has the chance. Her kind and loyal Thorin is her sentinel, lover, and heart, always there to keep her whole. Since her resurrection, he watches her every chance he gets, never wanting to be away very long.

“Won’t you tell me what’s troubling you? You can’t keep shutting yourself down like this. The dreams will feed on you until you let them out. Share them with me and be rid of them, or at least lessen them,” he coaxes. It’s the fourth time this week she's woken up with nightmares and his own worry is taking over his mind.

Clara sits silently, unsure how to come out and tell him of the horrors she's seen. An elf disemboweled and then another with his helmet ripped off and their throat ripped out? How can she begin to explain her first time experiencing unadulterated violence to someone who is so well acquainted with violence and death? _'Never tell him of dying'_ her mind whispers quietly among the buzzing thoughts. _'Don't burden him with the guilt.'_

She recovers her composure with a short breath and a shake of her head. “I really don’t want to. I’m not trying to be stubborn, I promise, but I don’t want to talk about it,” she replies, unconsciously snapping at him to leave her the fuck alone. “I really just want to suck it up and go back to sleep. I can sleep somewhere else if you want so I don’t wake you? You won’t offend me if you’d like me to.”

Thorin is taken back, nearly offended himself, by her offer. Clara bites her tongue to hold the apology back when his expression is hurt. “I want you here with me in this bed. I want you here in my arms.” She lets out a small ‘ok’ and hangs her head a little further. “You won’t speak to me about what haunts you?” She steels herself and shakes it 'no' again. “Alright but ignoring them won’t make it any better and it won’t bring you peace.”

“Well, I’m looking for black silence right now, not peace, so I’ll take what I can get,” she laughs. It’s a dry sound, exhausted and tortured, and Thorin recognizes it instantly. Although they lie in bed, Clara can't fall back to sleep until hours later while Thorin goes back to sleep holding onto words begging to be said.

It isn’t until the next day as Clara heads to meet Balin to get study material does she hear him. “She can’t keep going on like this. She needs sleep but I can’t get through to her. It’s going to eat her from the inside! It’s going to make her ill if she keeps on like this!” Thorin exclaims. ‘ _I can’t hear this, I really really shouldn’t hear this’_ she panics.

“You can’t force her to tell you. You know how it is and you know how she is. Would you like me to speak with her?” She looks at and away from the door wildly. The next thing she knows, her hand is raised and knocking on the thick wood.

“It’s Clara. May I come in?” She slaps a fake smile on her face and hopes it's believable.

“Please! Yes!” Balin calls through the crack. “Here for the list, I assume?” he asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” she smiles back. “A whole world away from school and yet the studying never stops,” she jokes. Thorin watches her, for a lack of better words, dead smile and a piercing jest. “Something the matter?” she asks him. He's been staring for a good minute.

He snaps out of it. “Bothersome council work,” he covers but they both know it's a weak lie.

Still joking, she points a finger at him in mock accusation. “That was a bad lie." His eyes widen owlishly because that was actually a very good lie from him. ' _She couldn't have known that'_ he blanches. “I’ve gotta get back to Lena but thank you for the list. It’ll help narrow the field from, oh you know, five hundred books to a hundred and fifty,” she snarks again. “See ya!" she bids and scampers from the office.

Lena waits in the library for her, and for the list of subjects, dressed in her hefty winter wear and mittens on the table. It's all an average day of book pulling and reading except she can't keep her eyes off of Clara for some reason. Something is off.

“Alright what is it? Do I have something on my face? Did I forget my pants? What?”

“You’re frowning and you’ve been reading the same page for like ten minutes. It should be my turn to ask ‘what?’,” she says, eyebrows raised accusingly.

It’s no use lying to her. They made a deal along with not talking about their other world that they don’t lie to each other. “I overheard Balin and Thorin earlier when I got the study list from Balin’s office and they were talking about me. No-,” she raises her hands defensively, “-I was not eavesdropping, it was on accident.”

“You didn’t like what you heard.” It’s not a question, but rather an obvious ending to an unsaid sentence.

“That’s the whole point!” the younger snaps. “Of course I didn’t. They were talking about my nightmares and I know they’re bad and I knew they were bothering Thorin. I’ve been waking him up every fucking night I just didn’t know he was this worried.”

She tilts her head a little. “Define worried?” she questions with a frown.

Clara sighs heavily. “He keeps asking me if I’m tired and of course I am! I go to sleep and wake up feeling like I’ve either been hit by a truck or coming off seven lines of coke but I’m not going to fall asleep standing or faint or ‘get ill’. I just want to be fine.” It sounds sad when she says it out loud. It sounds sad and pitying. “He keeps asking me to share my dreams and I don’t want to. It’s a burden and he already has enough of those.”

“You're being ridiculous and, to be honest, a little cowardly. He cares,” she says bluntly. “He’s intense and persistent and he’s kind of a dog with a bone, so unless you’re planning on telling him, he’s not planning on getting off your case.” Clara knows she's right but doesn't want to admit her own stubbornness.

"What about you? Do you count sheep at night and dance on rainbows?" This causes Lena to still.

It sounds laborious to form the words as she speaks. "I think about it during the day but I don't have the dreams yet. I'm expecting them to start at some point and I guarantee I'll be just as stubborn as you when someone tries to explain my feelings and thoughts to me." That's enough of an answer for Clara.

They continue reading for a couple of hours and Clara's ready to drop. The day is far from over with a late midday meal and the rest of the evening still to go, but she can hardly keep her eyes open. The book drops with a heavy smack as she surrenders to exhaustion and heads back to her bedroom. She still hardly knows what to call it. It’s large enough to be a house, but it’s under one mountain so it can’t quite be called a home, but she can’t call it a room either. _'There's still a lot to get used to_.'

She can barely make it out of the library doors before she sees Balin flagging her down. _'Be happy. Be polite. Be civil'_ her inner Lena reminds her. “What’s up Balin? Is something wrong?” _‘I already know the answer to that question’_ she cynically thinks.

He only confirms it by smiling softly and shaking his head. “I wanted to see how you were doing, how you’re adjusting here,” he explains.

“I like it here. I already see it as home.” It's a truthful answer that takes no effort for her to admit. His smile in response is beaming!

“I’m glad to hear that. More than you could know!” His smile drops a touch and she knows the ambush is coming. “I have to inquire how you’re sleeping. You look like you could need some well-earned rest.”

 _‘How diplomatic of him.’_ “Thank you for your concern. My sleep could be better, but I’ll be fine or I'll get used to it.”

“Are you sure lass? Is there no way Oin or Thorin or even myself could help you?” _‘Damn you.’_

“I overheard Thorin telling you about my nightmares.” His face drops and his lips form a thin line. “You said you would try to talk to me about it and that’s why I came in. I didn’t want to hear more.” Clara scrubs her hands over her eyes for a moment, trying to clear the sleepiness from them. "Oin already tried giving me a tea, but it didn't work. I just have to think of something else."

His sigh is long and weary. “Have you tried speaking about your dreams? It is the simplest way to lessen them, and Thorin. . . he is worried about you—I’m worried about you!” softly exclaims and holds her hand tightly. “Warrior’s heart can be a terrible and frightening thing,” he begins sternly. “We have all known it and we know what it looks like. Clara, nightmares can be the very beginning.”

Her smile of denial is immediate and she can’t resist tugging him into a hug. “You are so kind and caring-,” she pulls back to look him in the eyes, “-but right now I have nightmares and that’s all they are. They’re just bad dreams and their content is mine and mine alone.” He looks so sad. He looks weary and sad, as though all of the determination is sucked out of him.

“Oh please don’t be sad!” she whispers and tugs him into another hug. “If I need help, I’ll ask for it. I promise!”

He squeezes me one last time before breaking apart. “You should tell Thorin then. Tell him what you told me and get some rest dearie.”

' _Mahal wept! How much did Thorin tell him for him to say all of that!'_ Clara groans to herself. _'I can’t predict whether I have PTSD just based off of nightmares!'_ She finds him in the sitting room looking over papers on his desk, no fancy clothing on just his regular relaxing clothes. He looks to her and the first thing he sees is the dark bags under her eyes and closed off posture. They each frown at the others expression.

 _‘Talking can wait until we have a hug’_ Clara decides. “Can I give you a hug?” That was the wrong thing to say as he frowns. _'Shit.'_ "Sorry, can I have a hug?" He looks even more concerned now. “I thought I’d ask rather than assume. So, hug?” she waves open arms at him to beckon him over. He doesn't speak as they embrace and simply feel together.

“What is this for?” he wonders after a moment. Clara can't help but laugh because it does feel like she's setting him up for bad news.

She thinks back to all of those worried looks and pained glances at night from him and melts a little. “I had a feeling you might need a hug from me.” He scoffs but doesn’t pull back. “Balin came to talk to me about an hour or so ago. Do you have a few minutes to talk?” It’s small, but there’s a gasp before he pulls away just enough to make eye contact.

She can see his mind racing as his eyes widen and his mouth parts. It's the moment he’s been waiting for for the past two weeks, maybe longer since Clara ‘came back’. He puts his face back into a more neutral mask and waves her over to the seats in front of the fire where they sit an arms-length from each other. Her teeth abuse her bottom lip because she don’t know how to start. Thorin mercifully sees this and starts for her, choosing to go the most passive route.

“What did Balin speak of with you?”

 _‘Take a deep breath.’_ “My nightmares. He didn’t explicitly tell me what you said to him but just that you were really worried, like more worried than I thought, and so is he.” He lets the silence sit between them. It’s an odd thing. The people in Middle Earth don’t care about awkward silence or trying to fill it. They accept it for what it is and deal with it. “He was trying to tell me in the gentlest terms that I have what you call warrior heart or what my world calls Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

This pulls a sigh of relief from him. “I was afraid you wouldn’t know of it, but I’m glad you do. There is no shame to be afflicted with it.”

“I told him I just have nightmares for now.” She takes a chance to look up at him only to find him staring intently back. “You know, I don’t think I ever told you this or if anyone else knows but I had to go through the battlefield to get to you. I was stuck in Dale and had to go through all of the fighting to even begin climbing Ravenhill.” She's clenching her hands so hard they’re white and ache fiercely, and that doesn't escape Thorin's notice either. “There’s not a lot I didn’t see. Lena too,” she adds because there’s no doubt she’s no better off than Clara, regardless of what she says.

Emotions flit across his face quickly as he takes in the implications of that. He takes a second to regain control of himself as he nods. He cautiously takes her hands in his own and unclenches them, returning color and warmth to the cold digits. There’s another minute of silence before he asks, “Do you dream of the battle every night?”

She shakes her head and moves closer to him to relax against the stiff chair back, “No. Sometimes it’s of home. Those are usually the ones I cry about, but not always.” She smirks and he mirrors it briefly before turning serious again.

“Tell me of one dream. I will stop pushing you about the others if you let me share the burden of one. Tell me however you wish to,” he stops quietly. That doesn't actually sound like such a bad deal to her.

 _‘Let’s get the big one out of the way’_ her thoughts say as the image of the elf immediately flashes in front of her eyes. It takes a second to find her voice because if she says it, she has to admit it was real. Watching someone's guts come out of them like god damn streamers was real. “It’s not a dream,” she whispers and can't feel her fingers even though Thorin is holding them in his warm grip.

“What?” he asks. His eyebrows push together in confusion as he takes in her words. Dread creeps into his stomach as he thinks he understands her meaning. That hunch is only supported more by how her hands go cold in his.

“The thing is it’s not a dream. I was so close to Ravenhill and I was exhausted.” Her heart is pumping so loud she's sure he can hear it. “I had stopped for a second, I mean just barely a second,” her voice cracks and brown eyes fill with tears as she burn a hole in the ground because she no longer has the nerve to look into his eyes. “And there was this elf. I thought he was fine until, well, he wasn’t.” A baby sob puffs out of her mouth. It takes a good thirty seconds to regain her composure and evenness of her voice. “His armor was as good as wet paper.”

Thorin is deathly silent and still. There are so many terrible things she could have seen and he knows it surer than anyone. All of her thoughts, words, and emotions are disconnected as she says, “You know, I don’t think anyone teaches you what to do when your insides are on your outsides like confetti and you’re cut in half, save your spine of course.” Clara's voice sounds distant past the ringing in her ears. There’s no sound from Thorin, so she spares him a glance and finds his eyes are owlish again and his mouth is hanging open. “Yeah, that’s what I looked like too. Then I climbed the hillside and got skewered.”

This mouth opens and closes rapidly. “Mahal Clara I never thought—I didn’t know that—I thought that-,” he can’t finish from shock of the story.

“Well,” she smiles darkly, knowing it's not funny or anything to smile at, “lucky for both of us, that’s the worst I’ve got. Everything else seems pretty small after, uh, seeing someone disemboweled.”

“You’ve been keeping that to yourself this whole time? Letting it fester within you?”

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p’.

“This is not the only _ùhùrudazl_ you have? Does Lena know? Have you shared this at all?”

“Nope,” she pops the ‘p’ again.

“It’s no fucking wonder you haven’t been sleeping!” he exclaims using her trademark swear word. “Battle memories are not meant to be borne alone! You may not know this, but we all do. The company, me. You are not meant to suffer alone.” Clara feels silly as he lectures her because she really thought she was meant to keep her battle memories to herself.

Her eyes become glassy and red. “I thought I was supposed to deal with it on my own. Everyone else has seen horrible things and they deal with it-,” Clara stops herself as he raises one eyebrow. She's made a mistake, a pretty foolish one if his look is something to go by.

“You silly, brave woman, they confide in one another. I don’t know what I thought you had done during the battle, but it wasn’t that. I haven't forgotten that you come from a world where you don't see monsters or battle, I promise you. Oh my _azaghâlithûh,_ _kidhuzurâl,_ ” he whispers quickly before scooping her smaller frame into his arms and trying to protect her from all of the pain of the world.

Clara, on the other hand, can’t help herself as she comforts him right back as she runs her fingers through his hair. His hands are firm and sure against her back. “I’m sorry,” she whisper. “Although I’m loathe to admit it, I do feel better after telling you that.”

He laughs warmly at that and it shakes his chest with heavy vibrations. “Believe it or not Clara there are some things where I do know what’s best. Share the rest with me or someone else, but do not burden yourself.” She nods her head in a silent answer. Clara's eyes drift shut and she begins to feel heavy against his shoulder. She's sure he wouldn't mind her falling asleep on him, but might be good to give him a heads up.

“I also came here to take a nap. You’re also right that I’m exhausted in every way. I nearly fell asleep in the library over a set of books. Will you come with me?”

There’s no hesitation as he whispers, “Always.”


End file.
